


Love, Homework, and Other Things That Nearly Killed Me

by Freya_Ishtar



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Blood Drinking, F/M, Family Curses, Gen, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Multi, Romance, Smut, Vampires, Werewolves, poly-fic, possible triad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-03 17:14:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17288159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Freya_Ishtar/pseuds/Freya_Ishtar
Summary: Returning to Hogwarts after the War, Hermione's budding relationship with Draco is already in jeopardy, not only because of Corvus Selwyn, the mysterious new student Hermione meets one night in the library, but because of the 'monstrous' secret Draco, himself, is keeping from her. (poly-fic [possible triad]) SPORADIC UPDATES





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Notes:
> 
> 1\. Marked 'poly-fic, possible triad' in the summary because while this will definitely be a poly-fic, the story, itself, will dictate if there's to be any M/M sequences or romantic plot as it goes along.
> 
> 2\. Corvus Selwyn is [one of] my take[s] on the canon character of Selwyn (the other being Augustin Selwyn).
> 
> 3\. Fic (and title) inspired by a "Your YA book title" post (one of those lists that makes you select things based on your birthday and first letter of your name) shared by my friend xxDustNight88 (give her FB group DustNight Fanfiction Readers a lookie ).
> 
> 4\. Updates will be sporadic. Chapter lengths will vary (some may be over 4k, some may be under 2k).
> 
> 5\. Some plot elements will revisit points I've touched upon in other fics (mostly to do with Hermione's heritage/lineage).
> 
> Fancast: Sebastian Stan as Corvus Selwyn
> 
> DISCLAIMER:I do not own Harry Potter, or any affiliated characters, and make no profit from this story.

  **CHAPTER ONE**  

Hermione shivered at the feel of his teeth raking over the skin just below her ear, but she pulled away, tutting at him. "We can't do this  _now_."

Feigning a pout—it really was wonderful how much  _freer_ and livelier he seemed since the War's end—Draco met her gaze. "And why not, exactly?"

She slipped from his embrace, even as she laced her fingers though his to tug him along behind her. He was putting up a fight, though, putting his leanly-muscled weight into standing perfectly still as he yanked on her arm, causing her to slingshot back to him.

Giggling, she let out a huffing breath as he nipped at her throat, once more. Lord, how she wanted to stay in this darkened corridor nook and just let him have his way, but no. Everyone knew their faces by now, if they weren't in there soon . . . .

"Draco? Dinner is about to start, if we're not in the Great Hall when McGonagall begins her welcome speech, people are  _going_  to notice."

"Mmm," he exhaled the sound, seeming unconvinced by her argument as he spared a moment to nibble at her earlobe. The way she all but melted against him and uttered that little mewling whine in the back of her throat had him sure he'd won. "Oh, yes. A boyfriend and girlfriend of consenting adult age conspicuously missing at the same time. I'm sure they'll just be sending out search parties!"

Hermione forced herself to focus. If she gave into him now when they'd only been dating for a few weeks—since that fateful mid-August afternoon when they'd run into each other at Flourish and Blotts and somehow an argument over which book was a better source for counter-curse research had ended in them snogging right there in the bookshop—it would set an  _awful_  precedent for their relationship.

Tugging out of his arms once more, she started  _determinedly_  pulling him along behind her. "Funny one, you are. But no, let's not begin our final year with delinquency."

Recognizing that he had, in fact, lost, he let his head fall back and sighed. "Your definition of delinquent and mine are _so_  different."

Laughing, she shook her head. "Besides, I already have a long night ahead of me. I've been assigned to do some research for Professor McGonagall."

Draco's shoulders drooped even as he allowed her to continue dragging him along. "You've got assignments already?"

"Not exactly, it's more to  _assist_  the professors, since people haven't exactly been clamoring to fill the Defense Against the Dark Arts post, some of the teachers are pulling double-duty to fill in. Given my personal war record, Professor McGonagall . . . okay, I'm lying."

Draco stopped short, though this time there was no giggling or nuzzling her neck when she, again, slingshot back into him. "What?"

The witch averted her gaze, shrugging. " _Partially_  lying. I didn't want to make a fuss, but Professor McGonagall asked me, because of my war record—and because this is  _me_ , apparently—if I could  _fill in_  on the DADA post with the first years, just until they do find a permanent teacher."

His brow furrowed as he searched her gaze. "And you didn't tell me because . . . ?"

She choked out a scoffing sound. "Because of all the things we've always heard about the post. That it was cursed, that bad things always happen to those who dare take it up."

"Even if that were true, I think that curse died with, well, you know who."

Hermione didn't think he quite sounded convinced of his own words. The wounds of the War were still healing, pointing out that he was still in dread of even speaking Voldemort's name would only cause a fight.

She smiled, her eyebrows pinching together. "I just didn't want you to worry."

"Hey," he said in a low voice, grinning, "if there's anyone who can handle themselves in a dangerous situation, it's you."

"Mm-hmm." She nodded, feeling much better as they started walking, again. "So you think teaching first years is a dangerous situation?"

"Bunch of rowdy eleven year olds not yet in control of their magic? Yes, Ma'am!"

Even as she laughed, she winced. "I see your point."

"And you've got  _homework_  before the first bloody day of classes!"

Forcing a shrug that was much more carefree than it felt, she said, "If there's anyone who can manage to pick up a class assignment before lessons even started—"

"It's you."

"It's  _so_  me."

Their discussion, however, managed to take up the same amount of time Hermione'd dreaded spending out in the corridor to begin with. By the time they walked into the Great Hall, Professor McGonagall had just opened her mouth to begin speaking. Spying the very familiar pair of faces strolling into the massive chamber—late  _and_ holding hands—she unexpectedly paused a moment. Her faltering caused literally ever other head in the Great Hall to turn and look at them.

Hermione flushed, swallowing hard as she forced a smile. "This is your fault," she said to Draco in a hissing whisper.

A snicker edged his words. "It _so_  is, just not for the reason I was hoping."

The rest of the first night's feast was relatively uneventful, though Hermione did have to field a few questions from some rabidly curious friends. Ginny had already been made aware of the relationship by Ron, who seemed to take the entire situation as a personal insult, despite that his own relationship with Hermione hadn't lasted longer than the first few weeks following the War. Ginny had understood, Harry had understood . . . even Molly! And the Weasley matriarch was hardly the most forgiving sort, but she had tried explaining to her son that sometimes things that seemed perfect turned out not to be a proper fit at all once they were given a chance.

In that respect, she supposed she was relieved that Ron had decided not to return to formally finish his education—she wouldn't have to deal with his sour disposition every day. Though she was sad Harry'd also chosen not to return, she did think that felt right, somehow. Ron had his hands full helping George without trying to seem like he was attempting to replace Fred, and Harry with his Auror training  _and_ making sure Ron and George didn't off one another when no one was looking.

Despite all that, she did miss them terribly.

As dessert was served, Hermione swore she could feel the weight of someone's gaze pressing on her. Frowning, she turned to look at the Slytherin table. Draco was engrossed in some discussion with Blaise—though it looked more like an argument. Probably Zabini having trouble wrapping his head around his pure-blood friend, formerly so vehemently blood-purist, dating a  _proud_ Muggleborn.

Draco caught her gaze and stopped mid-sentence to send her a flirty grin and a wink—really, he'd changed so much since the War, not that she was complaining, he was also still snarky, quick to lob an insult, and annoyingly judgmental, a bit like herself if she stopped to think on it long enough—she knew he was not the source of the feeling. Certainly, at the beginning of the meal, there were still flickering glances landing on her and Draco, but the attention had just as quickly died away as conversations struck up and food was dug into.

Chewing slow, she continued scanning the room. It felt oddly like the boisterous discussions going on around her suddenly fell hushed . . . like there was nothing in this grand room except for her and the unsettling sensation tickling along her skin.

What only seemed a heartbeat later, she snapped back to her senses. As she looked about, everyone was getting up from their places and starting out of the Great Hall.

Ginny was tugging at her sleeve as she passed, though Hermione didn't quite catch what the ginger-haired witch was saying. Something about heading up to Gryffindor tower, she thought?

Not wanting to worry the other young woman with her own strangely scatterbrained moment, Hermione stood, but shook her head. "I've got something to see to for Professor McGonagall."

Ginny nodded, not seeming terribly surprised, and turned to follow the flood of students pouring out the wide double doors.

With a glance back around the quickly emptying chamber, Hermione convinced herself the strange feeling had been her imagination.

* * *

Looking up from the scroll bearing Professor McGonagall's list of suggested research material, Hermione scanned the shelf once more. Where on earth was the school's copy of  _Hexes and Hauntings_?

A sound like a footfall somewhere behind her made her jump a bit and she looked over her shoulder. Even Madam Pince wasn't here tonight, making the library—which had always felt a little bit like home to Hermione Granger—feel empty and echoing. Surely, that was her imagination.

Just like feeling someone watching her at dinner?

Giving herself a shake, she returned her attention to the shelf before her. After all, she had even thought it only sounded  _like_  a footfall. Old buildings made funny sounds all the time, and it wasn't as though Hogwarts wasn't haunted. It was probably just a ghost.

She nearly snickered at herself a moment. To think, in the world she'd been born into, telling oneself an odd noise was 'probably just a ghost' was not a comforting notion.

"All right, forget  _Hexes and Hauntings_. Where is—?" She paused, hearing the sound again just as she'd decided to move to the next book on her list.

Her shoulders slumped as she turned toward the noise. If that was a ghost, at least she could ask them to keep it down.

"Hello?"

After a moment, her greeting met only by silence, she shook her head. She pivoted back to the shelf, once more.

_"Hello?"_

"I knew I was hearing something," she whispered to herself as she turned in the direction of that voice, and then just about shouted, "Who's over there?"

The young man who stepped out from behind a bookcase at the far end of the room looked . . . familiar. He was taller than Draco, and had dark hair that fell a bit haphazardly across his forehead and into a set of utterly piercing blue eyes. Obviously her own age—though she had an odd feeling he might actually be a bit older—he wore Slytherin robes.

Though, she had a feeling that wherever she knew him from, it  _wasn't_  Hogwarts.

He held up his hands as though he expected her to draw her wand on him. Yet, as he moved closer, she could see the very book for which she'd been searching clutched in his left hand.

"Sorry," he said with a lopsided grin. "Thought I was alone in here."

His voice didn't sound familiar at all, but there was just something about him . . . . She was certain she'd recall that perfect jawline and those chiseled cheekbones anywhere.

Nearly as soon as the thought skittered across her mind, she dropped her attention to the floor, collecting herself. She was  _with_  someone, she should not be noticing jawlines and cheekbones . . . or the breadth of shoulders from the corner of her eye.

Shaking her head and forcing herself to meet his gaze once more, she tried for an airy tone. "Well, you're not and I've been looking for  _that_ book you're holding."

"Huh?" He shifted his focus to the book in question. "Oh, sorry. The headmistress gave me a list of books, I think there was supposed to be more than one copy, but—"

"You, too?"

"What?"

Frowning, she held up her scroll from Professor McGonagall. "Filling in for a vacant teaching post?"

"Right. I'm to cover for any classes that . . . . Oh. Oh, you're her."

Hermione's brows shot up. "Her?"

"You're teaching the first years? I'm supposed to cover any classes that conflict with your own lessons."

"Who are you?"

Well, she certainly wasn't one to waste time with manners, was she? Clearing his throat, he set down the book and his own copy of the list on the nearest table and held out his hand. "Corvus . . . Selwyn."

Purely reactionary was Hermione's move to shake his hand. The moment his last name fell from his lips, she froze. From the look on his face, she thought perhaps he was prepared for her to respond this way.

Not surprising, now that where she'd seen his face before had clicked. "Selwyn?"

An awkward grimace flickered across his features as he nodded.

_Now_  she knew why he'd approached her like he expected her to attack; he remembered her face as surely as she remembered his. "You were with the Snatchers!"

He shrugged, but looked away. "I was doing my job."

"You're a Death Eater!"

Seeming to hold back some impatient retort, he rolled his eyes. " _No one's_  a Death Eater, anymore, Hermione Granger."

She snatched up the book they both needed, gesturing at him with it. "Why are you even here? You should be—"

"In Azkaban?"

Forcing a gulp down her throat, she nodded.

Meeting her gaze again, his mouth tugged down at the corners in a thoughtful frown. "As I said, I was doing my job. I  _was_ a Death Eater, but I crossed battle lines."

"When?" She shouldn't be continuing to ask  _him_  anything! She should be storming up to the headmistress' office and demanding to know why she hadn't been told about this!

"After you lot escaped from that mad bat Bellatrix, but before the Battle of Hogwarts." He shrugged. "This is more than you probably  _care_  to know, but I was dragged out of Durmstrang by my family and made to join the Death Eaters in my father's place after he died two years ago.  _This_  is my probation for my role in the War. Assist with the empty teaching posts while I formally finish my education here."

All the while as he'd spoken, Hermione's gaze had moved along his form in repeated once-overs. "Why wasn't anyone warned of this?"

"Last minute decision, I suppose? I arrived here just as everyone was getting out of the feast. Reported directly to Professor McGonagall and then came here. Any more questions, Warden?"

Her jaw dropped open as she gaped up at him. "I  _beg_  your pardon? Given my memories of our last encounter, can you blame me for being cautious?"

He offered a reluctant smile as he nodded. "I suppose not." Nodding again, he pointed to the book. "You take it. If I feel I need it for lessons, then I'll—"

"No, no. You did get it first, after all." She supposed if Professor McGonagall thought he could be trusted on school grounds, the least Hermione could do was try to be civil. Taking a seat, she pulled her quill and ink bottle from her bag. "I'll jot down the chapters I'll want to work on, and when I feel it's time for those lessons, I'll confer with you. If, um, if you're covering for me, then we should be on the same page, for the students' sakes."

He nodded. "That makes sense, okay."

She couldn't help but be aware of him watching her as she noted the portions of the book that she thought would be the most useful. Had he moved to stand behind her?

Upon finishing, she closed the book. "I'll request Madam Pince order another copy tomorrow, but seeing as there are probably so many books being restocked right now, it may be a while."

"Finished?"

"Yes."

She nearly jumped out of her skin as he reached over her shoulder to take the book. No sense of personal space, this one.

Yet, as his left arm disappeared from her line of sight, words tumbled from her lips. She hadn't meant to ask, but after everything Wizarding Britain had been through—in part because so many people had refused to believe someone could come back—she felt prompted. True, she'd seen Draco's arm, but something about his faded Mark didn't seem quite real. Perhaps because he'd only been a Death Eater for such a short time, and only so that Voldemort could hold him over his parents' heads.

"Is he truly gone?"

She thought she could feel the way Corvus tensed behind her, though he wasn't near enough for that. She thought she could sense him moving closer as he considered her question.

"You don't believe the Dark Lord is really dead?"

She shrugged, oddly aware of the pitch of his voice in the quiet of the library. "He . . . ." Licking her lips nervously—why was she nervous all of the sudden?—she shrugged. "He wasn't the last time everyone believed him dead."

He exhaled, a long, low breath . . . that she felt against the skin on her neck and the side of her face. "You know about the Dark Mark?"

Hermione refused to turn her head and look up at him. How had this moment become so oddly strained? Certainly they were the only people in the library, yet it felt strangely like they were the only two people in the entire world in this moment.

"Of course."

He set the book down on the other side of her and then she heard the rustling of fabric behind her head. "So you know that after the First War, the original Death Eaters' Marks didn't fade, because there was still something of him left alive, somehow?"

Aware that only very few of even his precious Death Eaters had known about the Horcruxes, she nodded. It made sense that Corvus would use a term like that if he didn't actually understand what had happened.

"Have a look for yourself, then."

Just as when he grabbed the book, she jumped to find him half-curled around her. He crooked his arm, the sleeve of his robes was rolled up to his elbow and he placed his left forearm before her on the table.

Now she definitely felt his breath dancing across her skin. Ignoring the sensation as best she could—and hating that it set off butterflies in the pit of her stomach for some reason—she examined his Mark. Yes, just like Draco's, it was faded. Just the faintest coal-grey design against the inside of his arm.

She could not say what possessed her, but she turned her head, then. His face was over her shoulder, so close to her own that when he moved to meet her gaze, their noses nearly touched.

Pulling back just a little so that they could see each other properly, he arched a brow. "There. Feel better?"

_I certainly feel something_. Giving herself a mental shake, she avoided any telling reactions, like clearing her throat or shaking her head as she forced out the words, "Much, thank you."

"Tomorrow before dinner."

Her eyebrows pinched together. "What?"

He slowly rose to his full height, but his eyes remained locked on hers. "I thought we could meet to go over our schedules and the classes, so we'll know when you need me."

For a moment she drew a complete blank. Was it in the way he talked? His nearness? Perhaps it was those piercing eyes or the oddly mesmerizing pitch of his voice.

_Dear God, Hermione! Get yourself under control!_ Did she honestly need to bombard herself with mental images of Draco when she was around this man? How horrible she was!

"Sure. Before dinner sounds good. Twenty minutes should be plenty of time for that."

He nodded, backpedaling. "Goodnight, Hermione Granger."

She didn't move a muscle as she watched him retreating. "Goodnight, Corvus Selwyn."

And she continued to watch him—as though she couldn't manage to tear her gaze from his form as he turned on his heel and sauntered out of the library.

Yet, once he was out the door, she found herself staring around at her environment with a series of rapid blinks. Drawing a deep, shaky breath and letting it out slow, she asked herself in a low tumble of sound, "What the bloody hell was _that_  about?"


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO**

_She writhed in his lap, adoring the sensation of the bare skin of her back moving against his chest. Letting her head fall onto his shoulder, she kept her gaze angled, watching as he drew the tip of his wand across the wrist of her outstretched arm. A hissing breath escaped her at the short, neat line that formed in the implement's wake, dripping crimson._

_Biting into her lower lip to hold in a soft moan, she met his gaze—equally crimson and gleaming in the moonlight through the window—and lifted the wound. A smirk tugged one corner of his mouth upward as he lowered his head, his tongue darting out to dance along the broken skin, lapping up her offering._

_She couldn't be sure how she'd come to enjoy this, or even when, she only knew there was nothing that matched the feel of his mouth drawing on her skin as he drank from her, hence the way she moved against him, as though he were already inside her._

_Swallowing a gasp as he nipped at her before lifting his head, she asked, "Do you want more?" God, she could feel the hardened length of him beneath her. The mere notion of him sliding into her and withdrawing again and again as he lapped and suckled at her skin was so heady and delicious, she didn't know how she could think around it._

_He only held her gaze for a breathless moment before searching her face. "Only if you're willingly offering."_

_"You say that as if I could ever say no to you," she whispered._

_His brow furrowed in what almost seemed a pained expression as her weighed he words. As he watched her rise his from his lap, turn and settle against him, once more. There really was nothing she wouldn't do for him, was there?_

_Still, he only observed his witch while she curled her fingers around him. Positioning him with one hand, she lifted his wand arm with the other, directing the tip of the weapon to the spot where her shoulder met her neck._

_Their eyes locked, they moved as one, the magic from his wand slicing her skin as she lowered herself against him. They each shuddered as they stared at one another a moment longer._

_Clasping her hands behind his neck for leverage, she started moving, rocking herself in his lap as he lowered his head, bringing his mouth to the sweet, dripping line of crimson._

_He wished she'd let him use his teeth, instead, but this made sense. These incisions were neater, faster to heal and easier to explain away._

_Just once . . . just to tease, he raked the edge of one fang against the wound._

_She choked out a pleading moan, then, knowing if he did that again, she might never insist on clean, magically-created cuts, again._

_"Oh, God, Corvus!"_

* * *

Corvus bolted upright in bed so fast, he actually tumbled off the mattress and hit the floor with a thud. Despite the jarring calamity, he shot to his feet, fussing to disentangle himself from his bedclothes as he hurried to the mirror above the bureau.

His breath was rushing into his lungs in short, ragged gulps of air and sweat beaded his forehead, but none of that concerned him very much as stared at his own reflection. Pulling his lips up to expose his teeth, he stared wide-eyed.

No . . . no, of course not.  _Just like last time_. His teeth were perfectly normal.  _And the time before that._  What was he thinking? Of course he didn't have  _fangs!_  He tried to force his breathing to slow.  _And the time before_  that.

Turning his back to the mirror, he leaned his hips back against the lip of the bureau and buried his face in his hands. No, this certainly was not the first time he'd had that dream.

But it was the first time he'd seen the face of his mysterious, too-generous lover.

It was the same face he'd seen all those months ago when he'd been forced to work with the Snatchers.

The same face that had been so very angry with him last night in the library when she'd learned who he was.

* * *

Hermione jerked awake, hearing the echo of her own strained and breathless voice in her head.  _Oh, God, Corvus!_ Mortified, she darted her wide-eyed gaze around the Great Hall, wondering if she'd blurted out that . . . that  _terrible_ sentence. She hadn't really been dreaming just now, more that it seemed she was recalling the dream she'd had last night as she'd dozed off just now during breakfast.

She only found one person's attention on her. If she'd shouted in her sleep just now, she was pretty sure that—much like entering the grand chamber _late_  for last night's feast—every head in the place would be turned toward her.

Now, she only found a suggestively grinning Ginny Weasley staring back at her.

Clearing her throat before she could manage to get any words out, Hermione patted her hand against her chest just below her collarbones. "What? Why—why are you looking at me like that?"

Sitting back and stirring her breakfast aimlessly, Ginny said, "That flush in your cheeks. Should I guess that more important than eating is daydreaming about a certain Slytherin?"

Hermione felt like the air was trapped in her lungs as she recalled seeing Corvus in Slytherin robes last night. "What?" she asked again, her voice barely a thread of sound.

Ginny tutted, shaking her head. "You don't have to play coy with  _me_ , Hermione. It's perfectly okay if you were having some naughty thoughts about Draco."

"Oh." The brunette could feel her cheeks burning. Right. Draco. That . . . that made much more sense than having some utterly bizarre vampire-sex fantasy about a man she'd only just formally met who'd once been party to her getting kidnapped.

She was, of course, totally ignoring the fact that in said fantasy, she'd rather seemed to be enjoying herself. Worse, there had been an odd sense of familiarity to the entire scene. As though . . . .

"So?" Ginny's voice prompted, dragging Hermione right out of her thoughts—Hermione didn't know if she should be thankful or upset about that.

Her brows pinching upward, she repeated the word.

"With a look like that, I have to ask." Leaning closer, Ginny dropped her voice to a whisper, despite that both witches doubted anyone could hear their already quiet discussion through the din. " _Have_ you and Draco . . . well, you know?"

Hermione chewed her lip, averting her gaze for a moment in a way that she  _knew_ was telling.

Gasping, Ginny sat back, a mildly affronted expression flitting across her face. "Honestly! You didn't tell me? I told you when Harry and I—"

"Um, no," Hermione cut in as she wagged her finger at the other young woman, a laugh edging her tone. "What I recall was being dragged aside and getting a question that amounted to 'Hermione! Harry and I just got up to 'this' and 'that', d' you think that qualifies as shagging?'"

Ginny tried to hold back a snicker. "To be fair, it still meant you were informed!"

Hermione only laughed some more, deciding to push the strange dream out of her head. It was probably just some mash up of her reaction to him last night and an attempt to equate him with some kind of monster, even if she did feel a bit more sympathetic toward him since hearing his story.

Just as she was about to say something more, though, someone plunked themselves down on the bench behind her at the table. She didn't have time to react when they slung an arm around her waist and pulled her back against their body.

She already knew who the culprit was. "Draco," she said in a scolding tone as she tipped her head back against his chest to look up at him.

"Morning." He spared a moment to cast an unfriendly glance at Ginny. "Weasley."

The ginger-haired witch curled her lip in disgust. "Malfoy."

Despite appearances to the contrary, Hermione knew the two had developed a grudging friendship. They still quite enjoyed sniping at one another and finding colorful insults to hurl when they got bored. Funny, it was just the way she'd always imagined a friendship between Ron and Draco might work out.

"So, I heard about you and Selwyn in the library last night."

Hermione managed to get her suddenly jumping heartbeat under control before she even opened her mouth to respond. She'd done nothing wrong. Last night had been perfectly innocent, and no one could control the things that ran amok in their head when they slept.

Yet, she still felt a nagging sensation of guilt over it. Were she and Draco even serious enough for her to feel guilty over some uncontrollable subconscious imagining?

Ginny's gaze darted from Hermione to Draco, and back. "Selwyn?"

Hermione didn't move, but Draco nodded back toward the Slytherin table. "Bloke sitting to Theo's left."

Glancing in the direction he'd indicated, her brown eyes widened and a faint wash of color bloomed in her cheeks. "Okay, tell Harry I said this and I'll murder you both, but I would not mind running into  _him_ anywhere in the middle of the night!"

Hermione bit her lip on a laugh, ignoring an unexpected stab of jealousy in the pit of her stomach. "Secret's safe with me."

Draco, on the other hand, said, "I'm  _so_  telling Potter. Be the first thing I say next time I see him! In fact, I think I just might owl him direct this afternoon."

Hermione and Ginny both giggled, though they also both gave him a good swat on his arm.

"Okay, first of all, it wasn't the middle of the night, it was just after dinner. Second, yes, he's helping me by covering my teaching duties when I have classes. Probationary assignment and all that. Nothing more to it."

"Am I going to have to be worried, Granger?"

She uttered a gasp, but for the life of her, could not tilt her head to meet his gaze just then. She knew his question was facetious, but there was a tiny little grain of genuine concern buried in there. "You can't be serious. I'm working with him. And it's Corvus  _Selwyn_. I've no interest in him given our history, so to speak, and I really don't see  _why_  you'd ask to start."

"You don't see why I'd ask?" Draco scoffed. "Oh, please. Even _I_  looked twice at him."

The moment those words fell from his lips, Draco found the gazes of both young women locked on him. Their brows had all but jumped to touch their hairlines as they gaped at him in question.

Blinking rapidly a few times under their combined scrutiny, he shook his head. "I don't know why I just said that."

Though she tried not to laugh again, Hermione couldn't help but snicker at Draco's abashed response. She didn't mind if he fancied other men, so long as his fancying of  _her_ remained sincere. Only . . . now that she'd thought that, she was certain she was going to have a hell of a time not letting the very idea put images in her head.

"Anyway," she said, pulling away from him to finally focus on getting some food in her stomach. "I'm meeting him before dinner tonight to go over our schedules. You are welcome to tag along if you don't trust me."

Draco frowned glancing at the Slytherin table, once more. "It's not you I'm worried about." After a moment, he tacked on, "Oh, um, by the way. I won't be able to go to Hogsmeade with you this weekend."

Her jaw dropped as she turned to look at him. "But you promised! It's the first Hogsmeade weekend of our final year, Draco!"

He winced, nodding. "I know. I'm sorry, I just have to go home. It's this . . . thing with my parents."

She frowned, but the most chilling words she could ever hope to hear stopped her from nodding.

"You're welcome to come to Malfoy Manor with me."

The laugh that tumbled out of Hermione, then, was so obviously strained and phony, that Ginny actually cringed hearing it. A weekend with Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy in the place where she was tortured? Well, didn't  _that_  sound like fun.

There was the a little niggling impression in her gut that there was something he wasn't telling her, but she pushed it aside. For all she knew, she was imagining things because of the last minute change in plans.

"Maybe I'll meet you at the station Sunday night when you're coming back."

Crinkling the bridge of his nose at her, he nodded as he dropped a kiss on her forehead. "Yeah, tha's what I thought."

* * *

Hermione thought she'd be the one trying to rush and edge them both right back out of the library when she met up with Corvus Selwyn that evening. But no, it was him acting hurried and impatient, and as though he wanted to be anywhere else as they compared their schedules with the class routine.

When she could take no more of his anxious fidgeting—after all, he hardly seemed the fidgety type—she slammed down her quill and glared at him. The loud sound in the quiet of the library made him jump—another thing that she could say seemed quite unlike him, though she had no idea why she was sure of that, given that she barely knew him—and he snapped his head up, his attention landing on her face.

"You know what? Perhaps if you find my presence so insufferable, in the future we should have Professor McGonagall act as an emissary. Or, better yet, let's owl each other, agreed?"

He only watched wide-eyed as she started angrily packing away her paperwork and writing supplies. As she was about to get up from the table, he realized it wasn't her fault. Maybe he was cursed—he'd once heard rumblings about some ancient family line thing, hadn't he?—or something equally ridiculous, yet somehow still plausible in the Wizarding world, and hers was simply the image his brain had picked to fill a void.

"Sorry, it's not you." He winced at how lame that sounded. "I mean . . . ." Corvus met her gaze, only to look away just as fast. "I probably shouldn't say anything, but I just . . . I had this odd dream last night, and it's very awkward being near you right now."

When he forced his attention back to her, he saw how wide her eyes were. Saw the way her jaw hung open just a little.

"And now I've gone and made things even more awkward by mentioning it." Nodding, he gathered up his own things and stood.

Yet, as he took a step, she shot to her feet. Unable to stop and think for even a second—it seemed her body was in control while her mind twiddled its metaphorical bloody thumbs—she grabbed him by the elbow.

"Corvus, wait. I think something weird is happening, because I—" Her words slid off as he turned back to face her.

This close, she couldn't help but remember her dream from last night. She'd even imagined the five o'clock shadow she saw now dusting his jawline. Why couldn't she seem to pry her eyes from his?

He exhaled, and she felt the ghosting of his breath across her skin and making her lips tingle ever so slightly. "Because you . . . ?"

Again, her jaw fell open as he stared down at her. That was when it happened. She couldn't help that her gaze had dropped, of its own accord, to touch on his mouth. The delicate skin beneath her eyes tightened in an appraising look as she remembered the feel of those sharp teeth grazing her wound.

When she managed to shake off the memory and look him in the eyes, once more—why did she have such trouble thinking clearly around this man?—she found that his gaze was no longer on hers. No. His attention had dropped, it now traced along the spot where her neck and her shoulder met.

"Corvus . . . ?"

Her voice jarred him and he snapped his gaze up to lock on hers, once more.

"I should go," he said, pulling out of her light grasp and turning away to stalk out of the library. Completely gone was the relaxed saunter with which he'd moved last night.

Frowning, she lowered herself back into her seat, puzzling over the exchange. As she did, she thought on how he'd looked directly at the same spot where he'd cut her in her dream. Something strange was definitely going on, she thought, even as she reflexively slid her hand beneath the collar of her robes to stroke the skin there.

Then she felt it. Right there. Faint, but _there_ —a barely noticeable line of scar tissue. A scar she didn't remember having.

In that moment, it came back to her in a flash. She knew why that dream had felt familiar. She'd had it before. When she was resting at Shell Cottage after the escape from Malfoy Manor.

Her first night's sleep after she'd encountered Corvus Selwyn for the first time.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Somehow, Hermione made it to the weekend without crossing paths with Corvus Selwyn . . . . All right, so 'somehow' was a stretch, given that there had been more than a few times she'd sworn she glimpsed him coming down the corridor, or around a bend from the corner of her eye, and she'd very deliberately changed direction.

She simply didn't know how to face him after that incredibly awkward scene in the library the other evening. And she especially had no idea how to speak to him, since whenever she heard his voice, the words he spoke to her in that damned dream echoed in her head.

Though she had wanted to seek refuge in the library, researching vampires and other blood-drinking magical creatures, and shared dreams—of course, she had no guarantee they'd had the  _same_ dream, but it did seem evident enough from their last encounter—for the first time since she'd set foot inside Hogwarts, she did not find the library a source of comfort. The idea of walking inside and bumping into him was . . . it was so many different emotions mixed up that she wasn't quite sure what to call it.

She would simply have to focus on not running into him in Hogsmeade over the weekend. Hopefully Ginny's boisterous presence would be enough to keep her distracted if she spotted him or overhead him talking.

Now, however, all of that was a million miles from her thoughts as she walked hand-in-hand with Draco to the station for the Hogwarts express back to London. The night air was a bit more crisp than she expected for that time of year, and she burrowed under his arm, pressing close against his side for warmth.

He snickered, holding her tighter, still, as he dropped a kiss atop her wild hair. "You sure you don't want to come with? Seems a bit like you're trying to climb right into my robes."

The witch scoffed, reaching up to give him an especially mean pinch through his robes.

Letting out a hissing breath at the sharp sting—how she always managed to catch his nipple through the material was downright uncanny, she wasn't even trying half the time—he caught her hand in his and pried it away. "Swear you can be such a brat."

"Oh, I'm the brat? You're extending an invitation you know I won't accept?" She arched a brow at they halted before the open and waiting train car doors. "Besides, I doubt your parents would be especially thrilled to see me, anyway. They're probably not  _thrilled_  we're even dating."

It wasn't anything in the way of an actual response—because he was silent following her words—but more in the way that his frame stiffened ever so slightly against hers. She could just sense a sudden, barely perceptible tension in him. She wasn't even sure that made sense, but whatever it was, it tipped off a terrible notion.

Pulling out of his embrace, she gaped up at him. "You haven't told your parents about us."

His brow furrowed as he searched her face with his gaze. "What? How did you—?"

"I could just  _tell_ , that answer enough for you?" Hermione tossed up her hands as she backpedaled a step from him. "Bloody hell, Draco!"

"I'm sorry, Granger. I've really wanted to tell them, honest, but—"

"But what? What could you possibly follow that up with that will fix that you've been  _hiding_  me?"

Draco's entire frame seemed to crumble under the weight of her angry stare as he shook his head, letting out a sigh. "I haven't been hiding you, Hermione," he said, deliberately using her first name. "I've just been awaiting for the right time. You know what my parents are like, you of all people."

The whole mess stung her heart. Her brows pinching together, she pursed her lips and felt tears—angry, sad, frustrated tears—gather in her eyes. "I do know, but I thought you'd changed, Draco. I thought you  _weren't_ that same boy who was afraid of their opinion."

"I'm not Granger, that's not what this is, I promise you. There's just so much going on right now with them and—"

"So much going on with your family that you've never even shared with me? That I've never heard you talking about problems you're having with them? Suddenly you're popping home at the last minute for an entire weekend and won't even tell me what's going on?" She watched his expression become more pained as she went on, but she forced herself to not let that look from him ping on her compassion, to only let it fuel her anger. "What even am I to you if you can't tell me things? I mean, what _is_  this?"

"You're my girlfriend." Draco shook his head, his mouth pulling into a tight, firm line before he continued. "And that you even wanted anything to do with me, at all, after everything we put each other through since the day we met . . . . You actually have no idea how much it means that you are giving me a chance like this. I want to tell you everything that's going on with my family, with me . . . ."

Even as he spoke, he remembered. He remembered the look in her eyes, how it spoke of anger, even as the way her breath shivered while it left her lips spoke of fear. He remembered how she recoiled from Fenrir Greyback as he'd circled her that day in Malfoy Manor. Remembered how he'd talked about her . . . asking if he could  _have_ her, talking about wanting to take bites of her. Remembered how she'd looked at Greyback the way most everyone in the Wizarding world looked at a werewolf. Fear, disgust . . . . Pity.

There were times he even thought maybe she'd pitied Remus Lupin, and he'd been her  _friend_. The exception to the werewolf rule.

If she looked at  _him_  like that, Draco didn't think he could . . . . He didn't know what he'd . . . .

"I want to tell you," he repeated with another nod, his voice strangely hollow. "But it's hard."

"That I can accept, I suppose." She shrugged, it wasn't easy to acknowledge that this was as new for him as it was for her, but she wanted to be angry right now. After everything she'd done for the whole of the Wizarding world—hell, she could even be attributed with helping to save his and his parents' very lives—finding out he couldn't find the 'right time' to tell his parents about their relationship was a bit of a slap in the face. "But I need to know one thing."

He only held her gaze, his brows lifting in question. Merlin willing, it was something he _could_  tell her.

Dear Lord, she couldn't look at him while she asked this. Dropping her gaze to the floor, she said, "Are you ashamed?"

When he didn't answer, she forced her eyes up to meet his. "Are you ashamed to be with me? Are you ashamed to be dating a filthy little Mudblood?"

"You know I don't even think those words, anymore." He swallowed hard, shaking his head. "And no, I'm not ashamed."

"Yeah?" Hermione gave a mirthless smile. "Well, tell them that, then. Now, you have a train to catch, and I . . . I have to go."

She was trying to be brave, to hang onto her anger, he could tell. That only made the way her voice broke on that last word more agonizing to hear.

"Wait." Draco reached out, catching her by the hand as she was turning away. He waited until she turned back to face him before he went on. "Can we talk when I get back on Sunday? Will you still meet me here when I get off the train?"

"Sure," she said, shrugging. "I guess."

Her non-committal answer tore at him. He couldn't quite say he blamed her—he might be just as angry and reserved in her place—but he couldn't leave things like this, either. "What is this, right now? What are we doing?"

Hermione didn't quite know what to say. She wanted to whirl away in a dramatic huff and stomp all the way back to Hogwarts. She wanted to punch him right in the throat. She wanted to break down right here and now and tearfully demand he tell his parents about them. Wanted to throw her arms around him and kiss him and forget she was angry, at all.

Mostly, though, she knew she didn't want to decide anything about their relationship out of sheer anger. She wanted whatever he might say when they saw each other again in two days to fix this. To make things better, to make them make sense, again.

After a few moments to think, she nodded and said, "We are putting a pin in this until you get back. I'm very, very upset right now, Draco, and I don't know where we stand, but I'm willing to put this entire thing on hold until we talk."

Draco nodded back. "I suppose that's all I can ask right now."

Feeling spontaneous, she bounced forward, catching him in a kiss. She broke it off, though, pulling back before he could try to deepen it. "Travel safe. Otherwise, I'll feel bad if you make me kick your arse when you get back."

_I'll be lucky if you don't_ Avada  _me on the spot once I tell you what I've been keeping from you_ , he thought, but he forced a small grin. "I will. See you Sunday."

Finally prying himself away from the doors, he went to the nearest car. Taking a seat by the window, he watched as she walked away, heading back to the carriage. He could tell from her posture as her figure got smaller and disappeared into the night that she was hurting. The way her shoulders were hunched, the way he could see the tips of her fingers curl around her arms as she hugged herself.

Swallowing hard, Draco nodded and said to no one at all. "I have to tell her. Even if she hates me, I'll tell her."

* * *

He frowned, slamming one book closed and setting it down before he reached for another. On the sill of one of the castle's huge windows he sat, books on anything he could think of—vampires, blood-letting rituals, bloodline curses, linked-dream phenomena—spread out before him on the wide stone ledge.

Two books he'd been through so far, and nothing. Corvus had believed entering the library, at all, a calculated risk, given that everyone who'd ever even heard the name Hermione Granger had considered the book-lined space the witch's second home. But then, he'd noticed how she'd taken great efforts to not even cross paths with him, so he thought it fair to say any business she might have there she'd try to have over with fast so she could be gone, again, in as little time as possible. He loved libraries, too, but given their strained first meeting and incredibly awkward second one both in that same space . . . yeah, he could not say he blamed her if she avoided it.

Night was falling outside the castle, and he knew he should pack this up and bring it all to his dormitory, but he just felt stuck. He wanted to find  _one_  thing, one solitary clue about what could be happening to him before he even budged from this spot.

That was when he felt it. A strange little . . . panicky kind of thundering in his gut. Some anxious sensation that seemed to call the entirety of his attention.

Frowning as he set aside the book he'd only just picked up. He looked about as he smoothed the flat of his palms over his midsection, trying to ease the bizarre and unwelcome feeling.

So strangely foreign, as though it wasn't even coming from him.

He glanced out the window, then. That was when he saw her, storming back toward the castle from the direction of Hogsmeade. Or, rather, from the direction where the thestral carriages dropped off their passengers returning from Hogsmeade Station.

He wanted to pretend it was someone else, anyone else, but he was surprised to say he recognized the way she walked, already. Her very distinctive hair helped, sure, but she was hardly the only girl in the castle with bushy hair. No. The hint of red he could make out in the lining of her Gryffindor robes, that hair, and the way she moved, he knew the girl approaching the castle was Hermione Granger.

And he knew that, somehow, he'd been aware of her drawing near even before he'd lifted his gaze.

As he watched her, his breath feeling strangely as though it was trapped in his throat, that figure in the distance stilled. He could see the way she tipped her head up. Her attention was on the very window where he sat, despite that given how far away she was, he knew she probably couldn't see enough detail to know it was him. It could be anyone here, sitting at the window, and yet, she halted, staring.

Then, she gave herself a shake, tore her gaze from the window and continued on. As though she hadn't even noticed the strange, spell-like moment.

Corvus followed suit, giving himself a shake and returning his attention to his research. He would find out what was going on, so he could stop it.

He just . . . had to avoid Hermione Granger until then.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

"Oh, damn," Hermione said, practically hissing the words under her breath. "I'm sorry, Gin. I forgot one of my bags at the bookshop."

"We can go back," the ginger-haired witch offered with a shrug as she turned on her heel to face the village.

Her shoulders drooping, Hermione shook her head. "No, no. You have a set time to chat with Harry at the Floo. You go on. It's not that late, I'll be fine running back on my own."

"You're sure?"

"Gin? I survived a war, being Harry Potter's best friend, and briefly dating your brother. I think I can manage a simple early-evening walk by myself. I's barely even dark out, yet."

"Of course, you're right." Ginny waved a dismissive hand. "I don't know why I worry so much over you."

Hermione's brows crept upward. "It's because you're slowly turning into your mother."

"God, I hate you." Scowling, Ginny leaned close to drop a kiss on her friend's cheek.

With a snicker and a nod, Hermione returned the parting gesture. "I know." She turned and started back toward the village square. Oh, dear. She paused a moment. What if the shopgirl at Tomes and Scrolls hadn't set aside her forgotten bag, but had given it to the wrong patron?

Her entire frame slumping with the notion, she picked up her pace, hurrying back to the bookshop.

The place was packed by the time she got there, and she knew the decision to send Ginny back alone was the right one.  _Such_  a ruddy nightmare. Twenty minutes _just_  to ask for items she'd already purchased. Fortunately, the girl at the counter seemed the understanding sort, blaming herself on account of the confusion in the shop that afternoon. First Hogsmeade weekend for the students was always a mad rush in the village establishments.

After assuring the girl there was probably equal blame to be placed, Hermione was back out in the village square, breathing in the crisp evening air. She was going to have to make excuses for regular trips back here after graduation. Hogsmeade was wonderful and it hadn't occurred to her until just now how much she'd miss these excursions.

Holding in a sigh, she started along the road that led back to the castle. Yet, after a few paces, she thought she smelled something . . . . Odd. Her steps stilling, she turned her head, looking about to ensure no one saw the movement as she sniffed at the air. She hated it, but ever since the War, her sense of smell had become sharper for some reason, and while it was perfectly innocent a thing, she didn't need anyone giving her funny looks.

Exhaling sharply through her nostrils, she covered her nose with her hand. That was a bizarre mix of scents, and ones that typically didn't go together. Rose hips . . . ? And was that sulfur? Definitely burning . . . or  _burnt,_  anyway. God, the mixture was awful.

Awful, and gave her a strange sense in her gut as to what it indicated.

"Dammit, Hermione," she whispered as she started off, following the strange odor.

Along a side street she wound, ending up behind some of the more rundown shops in the village—some no longer in operation. And there, by a little gated bit of shrubbery was the one person she'd thus far managed to successfully avoid.

Corvus Selwyn.

She halted, but just as she started to backpedal, he swung around to face her. His blue eyes were wide, startled, but somehow she knew it wasn't her sudden appearance he was shocked at.

He held up his hands and shook his head. "I didn't do it, I swear."

His words stopped her retreating steps. Curious in spite of herself, she marshaled her courage and stomped over to see what he was going on about.

In that little gate, half-hidden by the shrubbery was a circle. Old-fashioned magic . . . but the symbols . . . that smell of sulfur, the flowers wilted or burnt . . . . Not just old magic, but—"Dark magic." The words tumbled from her lips before she could stop them. "I didn't know anyone still did rituals like this."

"I don't know who did this, I didn't see anyone when I found it." Corvus shrugged, his gaze on her face as he tried again. "It wasn't me."

She looked up, catching his eyes. "I believe you."

Relief immediately flooded him. "You do?"

Her brows pinching together, she returned her attention to the remains of the ritual. "Yeah, why? You want me not to."

"No! I just . . . ." Once more, he shrugged. "I just was expecting you to think the worst of me, you know?"

"What can I say? I'm funny like that." Hermione knelt down to examine the site more closely without touching it. "How'd you come across this?"

"I thought it was odd smelling sulfur and burnt flowers, so I came to see what it was."

She glanced up at him. "Me, too. Okay, well, we have to report this to Professor McGonagall."

"I . . . don't think that's such a good idea."

Shooting to her feet, she shook her head at him. "What? Why not?"

Those blue eyes of his widened all over again as he held up his hands. "No, no! I don't mean it shouldn't be reported, I meant maybe you should be the one to do it. After all, you believed me when I said I had nothing to do with this, but c'mon. I'm a new student and a former Death Eater, I'm the logical suspect if Dark magic ritual sites start popping up. It would look like I was reporting it to keep suspicion off myself."

Hermione frowned. Yes, he was a bright one. Bright and pretty. Bright and pretty, and someone she'd already had a wildly inappropriate dream about. She needed to leave.

Nodding, she swallowed hard and forced herself to focus—not an easy task with him standing so close. Though, his very proximity reminded her that she'd been so staunch about keeping her distance from him, yet here they stood, a few centimeters separating them.

She gave herself a shake, hating that the gesture might be obvious to him. "You're right. I'll report it, and if anything, I'll say you stumbled over me after I found the site, not the other way around. It'll be fine, just . . . go. Probably best you keep this all to yourself, for now, anyway."

He nodded. "Who'm I going to tell?" Though he didn't wait for her to answer as he turned on his heel and started back out along the side street.

Corvus refused to let himself glance back at her. He was too busy ignoring the way it made him feel that she—of all possible people—had so readily believed him innocent.

* * *

Hermione couldn't deny being nervous as Draco guided her to a quiet corner of the courtyard and sat down. They were at the very back of the area, the entire castle and expanse of the courtyard visible to them, so they'd see if anyone approached. The careful measure did not give her a very good feeling at all about what he had to tell her.

She'd barely had time to herself after reporting what she'd found in Hogsmeade to Professor McGonagall. As far as she knew, the headmistress was taking the matter to the Ministry, but she was on-edge, wondering if she'd be called upon to recount the incident. Wondering if, somehow, she'd slip up and get Corvus in trouble, though she felt sure he truly didn't have anything to do with whatever that ritual was for.

"You're starting to worry me, Draco." A shifting sound close by caught her attention, but then Draco was fidgeting about as he searched for how to start. Dismissing the notice, she focused on him. "Draco?" she said again.

"Sorry, sorry. I'm just . . . ." He shrugged and let out a pained groan. "Okay. Here's the thing. I had to return home this weekend, whether I liked it or not, because my parents have been protecting me."

"Protecting you from wh—?"

"Hermione," he breathed her name in a hissing sigh as he closed his eyes. "Last night was the peak of the full moon. I'm a werewolf. I don't even know who, just . . . during the last battle, I got in the way of one of them, and . . . that's it. That's the big secret."

When he opened his eyes, he found her darting her gaze about, as though in search of a response. His movement tentative, he reached for her hand. Though she didn't pull away from his touch, he thought the way she looked at his fingers lacing with hers was probably worse.

"That's it? You didn't think I could be trusted with this?"

Oh, she was angry. Well, that was better than being afraid of him, he supposed. "No, it wasn't that. It's just I know you don't exactly have the best history with werewolves. I didn't want you to fear me like you did Greyback, or pity me like you did Lu . . . ." He caught himself, then, his voice trailing off as he stared at her wide-eyed.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" Her chestnut eyes narrowed as she snatched her hand from his. "Did you just say 'pity you like I did  _Lupin_?' Draco Malfoy—"

"No, Granger, I didn't mean it like—"

"How _fucking_  dare you." The words escaped her in a barely audible whisper. She was afraid that if she spoke any louder, she'd be screaming. "Remus Lupin was my friend. I didn't pity him, never. I  _never_  pitied him. What I pitied was the way people looked at him. The way people judged him for what he was while ignoring that he was a wonderful, intelligent  _person."_

Draco swallowed hard, shaking his head. Damn, he'd put his foot in it, now.

"I don't know if you can even understand this, but there was a special bond between Remus and me. I'll never fully understand it, myself, but we were connected, somehow. You've no idea _what_  I went through when the dust settled and I saw his body on the ground." She sniffled, shaking her head, as well. By some miracle, the sudden rush of tears stayed in her eyes. "It was like I lost a part of my own heart, the way some friends are just  _that_ special to you."

Despite her pulling away before, Draco once more reached out, catching both of her hands in his. "Of course I've no idea what you went through or how you felt, because you never talk about any of it to me!"

She tried to yank her hands from his grasp, but he held tight, only making her angrier. "Are you serious right now? Don't you dare put this on me! I don't talk about it, because I don't want to talk about it, not again! I  _can't_. All anyone wanted to do after the War was talk about it. I just can't rehash all of that, not now, maybe not ever, and that's a paltry excuse for keeping this from me." Hermione paused for a shivering breath. "You didn't trust me enough to tell me about your condition. Worse, you insulted my intelligence by somehow thinking that if we went on long enough, I wouldn't eventually figure it out on my own."

His brow furrowed as he gave a half-hearted shrug. "I know it's a shitty reason, but I thought you'd turn your back on me. Your history with werewolves is hurtful in one way or another. Losing your friend, being so afraid of Greyback. I didn't know how you'd react."

"I'd have reacted a lot better to the truth, Draco." She forced a gulp down her throat and nodded. "Whether or not I feel I can handle being in a relationship with a werewolf should've been something you gave me the right to figure out  _with_  you. I can't even describe how upsetting it is that you didn't think anything of taking that away from me."

This time, she managed to pull her hands from his. Climbing to her feet, she started across the courtyard. There went that shifting again. Damn Draco and his fidgeting.

"Grange—Hermione, wait!" He didn't continue until she stopped her storming, mid-stride, to look back at him. "What's . . . what's going on? What are we right now?"

Her brow furrowed and she willed herself not to let a tear spill free. God, hadn't they both been through too much already to have ended up here so fast? "I don't know. But I know that I'm aching right now, and that it's your fault. So, please, don't ask me to make a decision one way or the other until I've had time to think this all through. I could handle your condition; I could handle you being scared about what it might mean for us. I could've even handled it if you thought you were keeping it a secret for my own good. I can't handle that you hid it from me to keep me with you, or that you thought so little of me. So, that's my answer. I don't know." Hermione shrugged, sniffling. "I don't know what we'll be in a week, or a month, but what we are right now is not together. I need some time, _please_."

Draco seemed to fold in on himself as he watched her walk away. Eventually, he managed to peel himself from where he'd been sitting—forever, it seemed—and trudged his way back into the castle.

* * *

Letting out a sigh, Corvus sat up, staring out across the courtyard at Draco's retreating back. Honestly. He'd come out here, laid behind the fallen pillar to get a nice nap in the fresh air . . . . He'd not expected to doze off for so long, or that he'd be woken up by Hermione and Draco Malfoy arguing.

Bloody hell. It was none of his business, none of anyone's business. He didn't like the weight of knowledge he wasn't meant to have on him. By the time he realized the discussion they were having within earshot of him was so deeply private, to get up and leave would've only drawn attention to him. Would've only dropped him and Hermione right back into that dreadfully awkward place, and just after they had come to this strangely amicable comfort with one another. Would've made the tension between Hermione and Draco thicker, given that he was pretty sure Draco would read more into the bizarre energy between himself and Hermione than was actually there.

Climbing to his feet, he dusted himself off. Looking about, he decided to climb over the sidewall and come into the castle from a different entryway, just in case Draco or Hermione were lingering. The last thing he thought either of them would want at this moment was to realize their private conversation hadn't been nearly as private as they believed. He would do them the courtesy of keeping it to himself, of course.

Breathing deep of the cool early night air, he let out another sigh. Corvus had no account for the little ripple of anger he'd felt stirring in the pit of his stomach at hearing that Draco was a werewolf. It was too odd—he didn't recall having any sort of dislike toward the creatures before, which was a feat given his acquaintance with Fenrir Greyback. And, as with how it had made him feel when Hermione had so easily believed him about that Dark magic mess yesterday, he chose to ignore a particular voice mingled with his other thoughts, just now. Remarkably clear, given how jumbled the inside of his head felt right now, that particular voice was one of relief that Hermione and Malfoy weren't together. And wasn't that just horrifically shitty of him?

He lifted a hand, swatting himself on the cheek. He was ashamed of himself for even thinking that, especially in light of how fresh and how painful their parting was.

Nodding to himself, he continued on to the castle doors. He'd make this right. Or as right as he could, anyway. The first chance he got, he'd pull her aside and explain what he'd overheard.

At least then, no matter what else he might be feeling, he wouldn't have to feel like he was keeping something from her, too.


End file.
